


our lives (one blessing had we)

by vannral



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-04-05 10:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4176798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vannral/pseuds/vannral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started in the cold woods of Sokovia. These are short, pinpointed moments towards the future, in the future and between the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. moments before

 Clint swears the time stops. 

 

It’s the longest, the most haunting second of his life. _(Did he - did he just - ?)_

 

Then there’s a  _grin;_ a shaking, pained grin, and that  _fucking question,_ it’s not  _funny_ anymore, it’s not  _sassy_ anymore, there’s nothing  _playful anymore,_  and now, it has  _bitter heartbreaking taste on his tongue:_

 

_“You did not see that coming.”_

 

Not that. He did not see that.  

But he sees this man  _fall._  

He sees this man die.  _(For him. God, why did he - ?)_

 

Hesees Pietro’s open eyes, glassy,  _unseeing_ , so eerily  _blue_ , in a way they  _shouldn’t have been_ , and it’s the most heartwrenching thing he has ever seen. 

 

And when he lies next to Pietro’s body, he decides he never wants to see that again. He  _never_ wants to hear that again.

 

Then, a month later: 

 

    “Hey! Old man! You did not see that coming?” 

 

This time, there’s no heartbreak, no ghosts. There’s  _life,_ there’s mischief,  _there’s smugness._

And something in Clint collapses; the grin fades from Pietro’s lips, when he realizes it’s not  _funny_ , not anymore, and it won’t be in a good while. 

It takes time, and then it comes to mean something else entirely.  


	2. but it could be

Laura stands in the living room and watches them with a smile. 

(It’s more like watching her own life unravel. She just doesn’t know it yet, not really. Not for a long while. In retrospect, this is the  _moment that pushed things into action.)_  But right now, she’s tentatively happy.

 

Because there are people in the room. There’s that quiet, sweet girl, Wanda, whose face streaked with tears,  _and she’s smiling with such happiness,_ and there’s  _Nat…_

 

And there’s a man with white hair and such bright blue gaze. 

 

_Pietro,_ Clint called him, in the way Laura had never heard him. Clint sounded   _wrecked. Like he’s hoping, hoping so desperately, and so afraid that it’s not real._

_This is the man, who saved Clint’s life,_ she realized with a jolt. 

 

    “I swear to God if you say the  _thing,_ I will kick your ass”, Clint gasps, and it looks like he’s choking, on the brink of hyperventilation. 

 

The man,  _Pietro,_ Laura reminds herself, because she’s heard that name so many times, when Clint woke up screaming in horror; Pietro grins, and it’s almost.. _.gentle._

 

_“_ Worried, old man?” he asks, but it’s not mischievous, it’s not smug. 

 

Clint laughs, and Laura’s eyes widen. It sounds broken, almost  _hysterical._

 

“You’ve got no damn idea, Speedy”, he answers. His gaze flickers to Pietro’s chest as if he’s expecting bullet holes. “How? How - I saw you - you were  _dead.”_

     “I heal. Very slowly, though, this time.” 

     “He was in a coma”, Wanda adds. It should make sense, but Laura feels some how… _out of place._ She should be happy, right? That this man is alive and Clint doesn’t have to suffer, he doesn’t have to be in pain anymore. 

 

But something - something feels  _weird,_ somehow.  _Off._

 

What  _is it?_ She frowns, not understanding why she’s feeling that way. 

 

They talk awhile, Avengers. Steve helps Laura to bring out snacks, and then, she sees it. Clint is talking to Wanda, and Pietro - well, Pietro is watching Clint. 

 

_Oh,_ she thinks, blinking. 

 

Because Pietro’s stare is raw,  _longing,_ as if he wants to  _touch_ Clint, but can’t, but  _won’t,_ and Laura stops, startled.  _Is that why?_

_It’s not…love, exactly,_  she thinks. But  _it could be._

 

She approaches him a bit later. Pietro blinks, but when he realizes who she is, he looks awkward, uncomfortable. 

 

Laura smiles at him, gently. “Thank you”, she says, and means every single word, in this moment. “Thank you, for saving his life.” 

 

This is the man, who risked his life,  _for Clint._ How could she feel anything else but utter gratitude?

 

Pietro swallows and smiles, but it’s lop-sided, a bit shy. “You are welcome.” His accent sounds thicker now. 

 

She doesn’t tell him how hard it hit Clint, when Pietro had died  _for him._

She doesn’t tell him how Clint woke up screaming Pietro’s name, when nightmares were torturing him. She doesn’t tell him how deeply it gnawed,  _ravaged_ Clint from the inside out.

She  _couldn’t help him_. She had never,  _ever_ felt that helpless, not even after New York. She wonders if it because Pietro  _willingly_ chose to risk his life for Clint, that it hit Clint this hard.

 

Instead all of that, she presses a light, motherly kiss on Pietro’s cheek and murmurs: “Thank you so much.” 

_For risking your life. For saving him. For coming back. For being here._


	3. passage

Sometimes Laura thinks it would be easier to hate Pietro. Hate is simple, sort of black-and-white. Absolute. The problem is, however, that she doesn’t.  _Won’t._  How can she? This man saved her husband’s life.  _Saved him_ by being a shield, letting bullets tear through his body,  _letting them break him._

 

She doesn’t hate Pietro. Never will, as long as she breathes. 

 

But she sees so clearly the raw, longing looks Pietro throws at Clint, when he thinks no one notices, and Laura smiles sadly. Because oh, yes, she knows how  _that_ feels. 

 

     “It’s all right, you know”, she says one evening to Pietro, when they are alone on the porch. Clint is upstairs, tucking the kids in.

 

Pietro startles, like a caged animal. “What? What is?” 

 

     “How you feel about him. It’s all right”, she replies gently. “No,  _really.”_

 

Pietro’s jaw tightens. “I am not a home wrecker”, he says stiffly. 

 

     “I know you’re not. But me and Clint…we haven’t really talked about it to anyone yet, but we are in the process of getting a divorce”, she explains calmly. Pietro freezes. 

     “I - “ he hesitates. “I didn’t know, I’m sorry.” 

 

The weird thing is that she knows he means it. 

 

     “Don’t be”, she says. “It’s been…going on, for a while now. We think it’s easier for kids…and for us.“ 

     “Are you - all right?” Pietro asks awkwardly.

     “You’re very sweet, thank you for asking”, Laura smiles. It feels softer. “But yes, I am.” 

 

She doesn’t tell how tired she was, how  _bone-deep and visceral_ that exhaustion was. Tired of being a secret, tired of  _pretending_ how they are a normal family,  _but they’re not,_ tired of how he can’t tell her things, and although she  _knows why,_  it still tastes so bittersweet. 

She understands him, his position so well, and she loves him so much for his sacrifices, but… _but…_

Such a horrifying little word, ‘ _but’._

And after Pietro died for him ( _well, he came back, but they still had to witness the consequences),_ Clint was in a freefall. Nightmares, exhaustion, pretending, it was a terribly tangled mess, and she could not do a damn thing to help him.

 

She didn’t know the details, for a good while. Then…Clint hadn’t slept for two days, and he was haggard, pale, broken, he told her what happened at Sokovia. What happened to one of those kids.

 

And Laura realized that this - this is how it will be. 

 

Then, Pietro came back, and everything was better, but the torn part in Clint was still there. There, slowly healing, but still there. And Laura…

Laura couldn’t do this anymore. It was not fair for anyone, really.

 

     “He is not all right with it?” Pietro asks. 

     “It was hard for all of us, I’ll admit that”, Laura nods. “I think we were…kind of fooling ourselves. That it could work. But we’re okay now. So, don’t hesitate, Pietro. It’ll be okay.” 

 

Pietro snorts. His eyes are very blue in the dim light. “He does not see it like that”, he says, more to himself than to Laura. 

 

     “Oh, I wouldn’t say that”, Laura says easily. She knows her husband. Well,  _ex-husband._ “Give it time.” 

 

Pietro turns sharply to look at her. He’s  _ashamed,_ she realizes _._

 

 _“_ I am sorry”, he says, and it sounds so  _raw._  

 

     “Why? Because you have feelings for him?” Laura asks calmly. “You’re not the reason why. It’s a sum of everything that’s been building up until this point. It’s all right, Pietro. Believe me, you bring such good things into his life.” 

 

     “After I made him suffer?” Pietro’s voice is bitter. “Do not lie to me, I saw it. I  _heard_ it. Everyone talked how he - “ He swallows. “I do not want his guilt. It was  _my_ choice.” 

 

    “Have you talked to him about this?” 

 

    “No.” Pietro shifts, uncomfortable. “It - it brings painful memories to him. And I do not want him to suffer, because of me anymore.” 

 

_Oh, you poor dear._

 

She takes his hand and squeezes. Pietro’s hand is rough, calloused, large. Larger than Clint’s, she notes absentmindedly. He squeezes back.

 

     “Talk to him, all right? It’ll be good for you both.” 

 

He eyes her, a bit warily. “Are you sure?” 

 

     “Well, he might end up shooting at you”, Laura remarks wisely, “but in the long run, yeah. I think so. Don’t be afraid. And don’t feel guilty, it’s not your fault.” 

 

She kisses his cheek. 

 

He looks slightly flustered, nervous almost. “You’re too good for that old man”, he mutters, and to her own surprise, she giggles. It’s all right, she thinks warmly. This is a good beginning. 


	4. deals, in the manner of breaking

When Pietro realizes that his death hit Clint  _so_  hard, it's like a brutal punch in the gut. 

 

He didn’t  _get it._ He really  _didn’t_ realize it. 

 

But when he  _sees_ Clint flinch at his catchphrase - that  _stupid_ phrase that was supposed to be funny and sassy, but is anything  _but_ now, he feels ice spreading through his body. 

 

Wanda thinks Pietro’s being insensitive. 

 

     “Really, what did you expect? _”_ she sighs. She’s had nightmares about it, too, but Clint - she can  _sense_ Clint’s fears and horrors tearing,  _bleeding_  through him like knife edges, coloured red like  _blood_. 

     “I - I did not realize”, Pietro fumbles, awkward and horribly guilty. Why didn’t he realize it?  _He should’ve -_

     “No, you didn’t”, Wanda nods. “Talk to him. Tell him.” 

 

Tell him  _what_ , Pietro wants to ask, but Wanda seems to be one step ahead of him, and doesn’t tell him. ( _Rude, for someone, who is 12 minutes younger, Pietro thinks sourly.)_

He goes to Clint. To Clint, who looked so pale and haggard, when Pietro first saw him after coming back.

 

     “No, ‘s okay”, Clint says, and Pietro doesn’t really believe him. “Just don’t - “ Clint exhales shakily. “Just - don’t  _do_ it again, okay? Risking your  _life_ for  _me - “_

 

Clint’s voice breaks. 

 

He swallows, and gazes at Pietro. “I can’t handle it again, all right? Nor can Wanda, just - “ Then, he looks terribly like how he wants to touch Pietro. “Don’t make us go through that again.” 

 

In  _that_ moment, Pietro remembers that gut-wrenching  _horror,_ when  _he_ realized that Clint and that kid were about to die. He remembered that he couldn’t get there in time.  _That he was so, so unbearably slow._

 

     “It is a deal”, Pietro agrees, “if you promise to be careful as well.” 

 

Clint blinks, startled. “Me?” 

 

     “You. I mean it, old man. Because I saw you. You were ready to die. Ready to die for that kid so that he can live.” In  _that_ moment, he made Pietro believe there could be decent people as well. Decent,  _good_ people in this fucked up world that they live in. 

 

Clint’s throat twitches. “Kid - “ he starts, but Pietro cuts him off impatiently: 

 

     “Not a kid. Twenty-six. Do we have a deal?” 

 

Clint hesitates, because he’s not stupid, but he takes Pietro’s hand and shakes it. 

 

     “Yeah, we’ve got a deal. And if you do that again, I’ll bring you back just to kick your ass again, because that? That  _sucked,_ all right?” 

     “Yeah, yeah. Imagine how I felt, when I saw your old, stupid face in the hospital room. I thought that I was in hell.” 

 

And that’s that. In the end, they both know, it’s not a deal or a promise they can keep, because shit is always gonna hit the fan, one way or another, but it’s a good start.


	5. mutual in love

When Pietro confesses, it’s on the brink of chaos, on _a battlefield_.

 

They are grimy, gritty with dirt and dust and blood, and lead-heavy exhaustion weighs them down.

Pietro says it first, his voice rough, hoarse, _desperate:_

 

 _“_ I love you.”Like he thinks there’s not enough time, like it’s _running out._

 

Clint inhales shakily, startled,  _but not really,_ and Pietro’s proud, _fierce,_ when he stares at him, his blue gaze unnaturally bright beneath all that dust. 

Clint pulls him toward him and kisses him. It’s a frantic, _hungry_ kiss, it tastes like rush, _need,_ pride, _lovelovelove, so much, he can never -_

 

    “I love you, too, you quick bastard”, he manages to choke out, feeling Pietro squeeze the back of his neck in reassurance, in _comfort_ that they are fine, _in this moment._

“You better not die out there, old man, or I will be extremely annoyed with you”, __ Pietro murmurs against Clint’s lips. 

 

Clint closes his eyes. They breath in sync, painful gasps. “Likewise, Speedy, watch your ass out there. _Please.”_

 

Pietro crushes his lips against Clint’s so hard their teeth click, kisses _so hard that Clint is absolutely sure he sees stars - he’s not ready to let go, not yet -_

But the fight continues on. Back to work. They’re _totally_ gonna survive this, and then, they’re not leaving the bedroom for a good, _long while._


	6. beneath her skin, gnawing

Wanda confronts Clint, full of grief and  _rage,_ ready to  _burn everything to the ground,_ demanding to know  _why,_ why did her brother sacrifice his own life to save  _yours_? 

 _Why did that happen?_   What made you so,  _so_ impossibly important to Pietro that he had to rush in, through a ravaged battlefield,  _from safety,_ to throw himself between  _you_ and  _bullets? Just_ like that?

_He could’ve avoided them. He could’ve dodged._

_Why didn’t he?_ Why didn’t he look, why was he so focused on  _saving_ you that he didn’t even pay  _attention_ to the bullets? That he was blind to  _everything else but you?_ You,  _you, you -_

Like,  _how dare you stand there,_ when Pietro can’t, how  _dare you - (he died for you, for you, so that you could live…)_

And finally Wanda breaks down heaving painful sobs, crying her damaged heart out, so wrecked, so horribly  _raw_ from the loss, still clinging to last of her denial, that Pietro is  _really gone, gone_ ; everything is burning, scarlet red and _lonely_ without her brother, just how  _dare you, Clint Barton -_

( _it’s not your fault. it’s not. i know how much you suffer, Clint.)_

She sees glimpses of things, flashes and echoes of  _Pietro_ in Clint’s mind; of his final moments, his sacrifice _._ They are laced with Clint’s guilt and agony, like acid, and Wanda is suddenly just so  _tired._

And Clint’s not going to argue. He knows she’s right. Without him, Pietro would be alive, right? Pietro, that snarky asshole, who in that  _final_ moment was more important than  _anyone, and now, it just hurts,_ hurts like razors tearing his chest. 

He hugs her and tries to tell her everything. How sorry he is. How he would switch places if he could, but  _he can’t, and he’s sorry._

Wanda just hiccups, buries her face into his shoulder and sobs how she knows,  _it’s not really your fault, it’s not, it was his choice to go, it’s not your fault…_

They’re the ones left behind, and they just have to deal with the gaping hole that Pietro left behind, and maybe together, they can heal and find some peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Of course, I think Pietro survives, but at that point, Wanda and Clint don't know that.)  
> 


	7. these fading lives

It’s smoke and blood; grimy and metallic on his tongue. Clint lies on the ground. He hurts, he  _aches,_ the world is distorted - with  _what?_ Tears, exhaustion, this stupid,  _stupid_ thing that is happening? Him, fighting Natasha and  _Tony, they’re fighting, with teeth and nails_  -  _Steve_ and Bucky are there, and - 

It all hurts, digs deep into his trembling bones.  _He’s so tired._

     “ _Get on your feet, old man! RIGHT NOW!”_

 _What?_ Clint blinks blearily. 

     “ _I am this close kicking you in the face, if you do not get up!”_

That - that  _voice -_

But - it can’t be, no  _way,_ there’s  _no way, Clint can’t hear that voice -_

Air rushes out of Clint’s lungs, paralyzes him, he  _can’t move,_ there’s no way he’s hearing that voice, it’s  _impossible, he - he watched him die - blue eyes, blue eyes, so empty, it shouldn’t be, blood, blood, white hair - NO -_

His eyes snap open. 

His vision is swimming and unreal, and he sees a figure beside him. A shadow, with dark edges, something like - like  _wings and_ … _white hair._ Clint’s heart stops.  _No, he’s hallucinating, he can’t be seeing that -_

     “N - no way”, he breathes out, panic jumping into his throat. 

     “ _Yes, and you are not going to argue with me”,_ he -  _Pietro -_ interrupts, irritated. “ _You need to get up right now, unless you want to join me, and I do not want that. GET UP!”_

That makes Clint snap awake and alert; the world is suddenly full of noise, gun fire and smoke - he gets on his trembling feet, coughs, his lungs are on fire, and he’s confused,  _Pietro?_

Then, he feels it. Feels a strange sort of  _weight_ press against his back, a weight that both is and isn’t there, it’s not cold or warm,  _it’s just…feels_ kind of familiar. Like  _arms wrapped around him._

Clint doesn’t move. “I’m so sorry”, he whispers, ragged. “You didn’t deserve that, never that, you’re a punk, and you shouldn’t have done that, I - “ 

The weight shifts, but doesn’t pull away, and from the corner of his eye Clint catches something white, something like feathers, glimmering and both real and  _not._

 _“It was my decision to go”,_ the wind seems to echo with a familiar Sokovian drawl. Clint shudders, tilts his head back, exhaustion eating his bones. He feels his eyes burning. 

The phantom grip around him tightens, ever so slightly. 

     “I’ll keep Wanda safe”, Clint manages to say. There are thousand things he wants to say, but that seems most important.

He swears he hears a wry laugh. “ _Good. And I will keep an eye on you. Someone needs to make sure you don’t die in the middle of something important, old man. I am not ready to spend the eternity with you just yet.”_

Clint swallows. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to  _go._

The weight… _Pietro,_ nudges him gently. “ _Go. I think Captain needs help.”_

     “Watch my six?” It sounds desperate,  _raw_ on Clint’s tongue.  _Please._

A snigger. “ _Like you can stop me.”_

Clint feels a bit better as he runs across the battlefield, not quite relieved, but lighter than during all these months. 


	8. salads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short ficlet. :D The twice-married thing is a reference to my other fic ‘a liquor never brewed’

     “Why do you gotta cut ‘em super fast? There’s gonna be minced meat in our salad, if you don’t  _chill.”_

     “It is faster.” 

     “No  _shit,_ but it freaks me out, like, you’re gonna notice that you’re missin’ a finger. No vegetable is worth that.”

     “I am not cutting my fingers off. Where’s your faith in me, sweetheart?” 

     “Where it should be, but I don’t want a  _salad_ to be the reason for your horrible dismemberment. It’s gonna be those fucking tomatoes, I just know it.” 

     “Eat your vegetables, old man. They are healthy.” 

     “Doesn’t mean I gotta like ‘em.” 

     “You live longer, and by the looks of it, you need it.” 

     “Ohoh! You think you’re so funny, huh?” 

     “I am pretty hilarious.” 

     “No, you’re really not.”

     “Yes, I am, now  _eat_ and stop arguing with me.” 

Grumbling, Clint stabs a tomato slice with his fork and mutters: “Goddamn tomatoes. And what are you gonna eat, huh? C’mon, if I gotta suffer these, you’re gonna suffer, too. In health and sickness, right?“

     “That is  _not_  what it means _.”_

     “It’s exactly what it means. C’mon, Pietro, eat a tomato.” 

Pietro rolls his eyes and sits beside him. “You are very annoying”, he murmurs, shaking his head, but there’s a fond smile on his face. “I can’t believe I married you.” 

     “Twice”, Clint reminds smugly. 

     “Yes,  _twice.”_

     “And totally voluntarily, too.” 

_“_ It is unbelievable.” 

Frowning Clint purses lips, but Pietro flashes a familiar, cocky smirk at him. 

Clint says, not  _quite_ whining: “C’mon, man, I poured my heart to you and everything.” 

Pietro’s expression softens. “I remember, I remember. Easy”, he says and with a sigh, he takes Clint’s fork. “Fine. I will eat a tomato.” 

Clint beams at him. “Thanks, honey.” 


	9. heartbeats in the bedroom

Pietro rocks into him, rough and desperate; his strong arms holding him, and Clint gasps in blissful release, his hips arching up; Pietro grunts, his white hair glued to his forehead, and  _god,_ he’s so gorgeous, gaze dark and _fierce_ , and Clint’s  _so_ in love with him - he can’t believe this is really his life; this snarky asshole from Sokovia, who is just as desperately in love with him, as Clint is with  _him_ , and god - 

Pietro curses, his voice low and he comes with a shudder. They breath harshly, foreheads against each other, skin on skin. 

Clint is so tired, but he’s so happy; it’s such a foreign, bubbling, warm feeling, and Pietro watches him, and to Clint’s surprise, Pietro lifts his hand - his large, calloused hand and brushes very gently Clint’s cheek, jaw, and the look on the older Maximoff’s face punches all air out of Clint’s lungs.  

He looks bare; raw, surprisingly gentle, like he can’t believe he can touch Clint like this. Clint doesn’t dare to move (he’s too tired, anyway).  

Because Pietro looks at him like Clint’s the most precious thing on the whole planet, the one that Pietro would spill his blood for, tear his heart out for. 

    “You are too sweet”, Pietro murmurs, his voice dropping deeper. “How are you so impossibly sweet?”

Clint opens his mouth, startled, bashful, and goddamnit, he’s _shy._  

He blinks slowly, sluggishly. “What’re you talkin’ about? I’m not sweet”, he mumbles weakly. Nobody has ever called him sweet, but this man - oh, this  _man_  - this man means  _everything_ to him. 

Pietro grins. “Yes, you are, do not argue with me, old man.” He kisses him again, slow and intimate. “Go to sleep. You look like you are ready to drop.” 

     “Thanks…love you.” 

    “I love you, too, lyubimaya.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! :) (This is my first time posting anything in Ao3, so let's hope I don't mess anything up!)  
> These are drabbles and short (sometimes VERY short) fics from my tumblr: vannral.tumblr.com, so please, visit if you like! :)  
> Thank you for reading!


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